Syrena
by PrimrosesInTheRain
Summary: Syrena Brooke's brother is dead. Even though she's from District 4 and is known as the girl who can use a trident better than anyone, except for maybe Finnick Odair, she never had any intention of volunteering for the Hunger Games. Until she does volunteer. Then it's the perfect chance for her to finally get revenge for her brother.
1. The Reaping

I'm the first to wake, and I get up quietly from my bed. I put on the training uniform, and leave my house for the Training Center. District 4 is as quiet as it'll ever be, the ever-present cawing of gulls and the sound of waves crashing against the shore in the background. The salty sea air assaults my nose as I slip into the Training Center. It's empty of people, but all the weapons and dummies and targets and obstacle courses are all still there. I pick up one of the throwing knives, a light, perfectly balanced, and wicked sharp weapon. It was the weapon I learned to use in my first training session when I was twelve, and while I can handle most other weapons reasonably well, I prefer throwing knives.  
>Standing in the center of the Training Center, I set my sights on a dummy about fifty yards away. Taking perfect aim, I send the knife flying with a flick of my wrist, and it spins at the dummy, a deadly horizontal arc of steel. Satisfyingly, my knife hits its mark and slices the dummy's head clear off, effortlessly. I grin. This is my second favourite spot in the world, after the ocean. Here, in the Training Center, with my knives and my anger and dummies to take it out on. It's a bit like therapy for me, these weapons. But it's a good thing they're dummies, or there's no way I would be able to sleep at night. After a few more rounds with the knives, I switch over to the trident, which is my next favourite weapon. When I've finished practicing every weapon available-spears, swords, slingshots, axes, even my own fists (and hand-to-hand combat is not my strong suit, at all), only then do I finally look over at the archery targets.<br>Innately, I groan. I am not a fan of archery. But my trainer, Calypso, wants me to get a feel for every weapon possible, so that if I end up going to the Games, I'll have a chance of winning using whatever I can get my hands on. If she were anyone else, I would ignore her instructions, but she's Calypso. She's one of the few people I respect. But she wants me to volunteer at the reaping this year, because it's almost the last chance I have to go to the Games. Yeah, right. There is no way I am going to die in place of someone else, unless that person is my little sister, Marina. I'm not one of those crazy-confident tributes who hope to be reaped and then dash forward to volunteer when they aren't. Plus, I'm not sure I could kill. Here in the Center, they're dummies, but that's the point. They're dummies. They don't breathe, don't have families. Don't have little sisters who wait for them to come home. Whether I could take a flesh-and-blood life remains to be seen. But I can assure you, if I am reaped, District 4 will have a victor. It might not be me, in fact, it doesn't have to be me, but I will ensure that either my district partner or I win.  
>So, for Calypso, I head over to the bows and I pick one out, a sturdy silver bow. I string it and I sling the matching quiver full of deadly arrows over my shoulder. I shoot for a while, not liking the way I have to depend on the bow to get my weapons to the target. Without a doubt, I prefer knives and spears and tridents, where I don't have to fuss around with bowstrings and nocking arrows, where I can just send death hurtling towards my target. It's simpler that way.<br>After a round of shots where every arrow hits the bulls-eye, I pack up, unstringing the bow and putting all the weapons away and I return home, where my family-or what's left of it-is sitting at the kitchen table eating breakfast. My parents are dressed in their nicest clothes, and even my little sister Marina has braided her normally messy red hair neatly. She has the same hair that I do…and the hair that Carter has. Or did. I guess that since he's dead I should start talking about him in the past-tense.  
>"Syrena, you can't go to the reaping like that!" says my mother, appalled. I look down. I suppose I can't, not in my training sweats. "Go change," says Mother. So I go to the bedroom I share with Marina and dig through the closet for something to wear. I find an old blue sundress that's nice enough, I suppose. I put on the dress and a pair of flat sandals and twist my red hair up. I'm not hungry at all, but I manage to choke down a bit of bread and cheese before we head to the reaping at the town square. Mother and Daddy stand together in the back section, and Mari and I are herded into a closed-off area for those eligible for the reaping pool. She stands with a clump of other thirteen year olds, and I take a spot beside some other sixteen year olds. I nod politely to the boy beside me and take a deep breath. Soon the lady from the Capitol will be onstage saying that she hopes the odds will be in our favor, and I find myself thinking about my odds. The odds aren't against me today, but they aren't exactly in my favor either. My name is in the reaping eleven times. Not too bad-if I didn't live in District 4, where most people aren't so poor that they need to enter their names extra times for tesserae-the just barely enough supply of grain and oil for one person in one year. One extra entry equals one tessera, and I have had tesserae for four people for two years. I would have a lot more entries though, if my older brother, Carter, hadn't insisted on taking all the tesserae for us. That turned out well. With an almost record-breaking number of sixty-three entries, Carter's name was drawn when he was eighteen.<br>The reaping begins with the mayor of District 4 reading the history of Panem. When he finally finishes his monologue on the Dark Days, he introduces victors of past Hunger Games from District 4. First comes Mags, hunched over with age-easily the oldest person in the district. Next is Finnick Odair, with his golden hair and sea-green eyes, and you can hear a collective sigh as the unmarried portion of the female population of District 4 swoons. Gripping Finnick's hand tightly is Annie Cresta, poor girl. She's beautiful, but her too-bright green eyes betray the truth-she went mad during her Hunger Games just two years ago, when her district partner was beheaded. It's hard not to resent Annie, as Carter had been her partner. He had been the one who was sacrificed in order to bring Annie home. But it's not Annie's fault, not at all. It's the Capitol's, the Capitol and President Coriolanus Snow and the Gamemakers' fault.  
>I swallow hard as Victory Vermilion, the Capitol escort, is introduced. She is entirely green-like her last name. Her hair, eyelids, lips, cheeks, clothing are all painted a frightening shade of green. With a giant beaming smile, she wishes us a "Happy Hunger Games!" and I fight to keep from gagging. "May the odds be ever in your favor!" she grins. Right on cue. "Let's begin."<br>Ever so slowly, Victory dips her green-painted fingernails into the glass ball filled with slips of paper with names written in careful pen. She slowly riffles through the paper slips, prolonging the suspense with a ghastly grin. The square goes excruciatingly silent, and I'm praying, praying desperately that it's not Marina, not Mari or me. But everyone else is hoping the same thing for themselves also. At last Victory snatches up a slip, rips off the seal dramatically. Her green lips are opening, in slow-motion it seems, please not Marina or Syrena Brooke, please no…she clears her throat. "Adele Vince!"  
>Dead silence. Then, slowly, a tiny girl, pale and shaking, begins to make her way to the stage from the twelve year olds' section. Everyone knows she won't last two days. Twelve year olds never make it long in the arena, even though District 4 is a "Career district", where we train ahead of time for the Games. However, we don't start our training until we are actually twelve, unlike the kids in 1 and 2, who start training when they start school. Addy's only been training a few months and she won't stand a chance trying to keep up with the Career pack.<br>"No!" screams the boy beside me, Cade, I think his name is. Addy's older brother. "Addy, no!" His face is twisted in agony, and he rushes at the stage to try and get to his sister, but two Peacekeepers in their white uniforms and helmets step out in front of him and stop him. "Let me through!" he yells, struggling against the Peacekeepers, to no avail.  
>This scene reminds me of Carter's reaping, when I was fourteen and he was eighteen. We were all so happy that he hadn't been reaped for six years. We weren't expecting at all for him to be snatched away on his final year eligible. When Victory Vermilion called out Carter's name, I had screamed and struggled just like Cade, wanting desperately to volunteer for him. But I couldn't, because only an eligible boy could take his place. Just like only an eligible girl can take Addy's.<br>An eligible girl. Cade may not be able to save Addy's life…but I can. I don't know Cade that well but I do know what he's going through. So I do what I wish someone would've done for Carter at his reaping. I push out of the masses of people. "I volunteer," I say, and no one but myself and the few people around me who give me shocked stares hears. "I volunteer!" I repeat, louder, and this time, everyone hears.  
>There's a roaring wave in my ears as the Peacekeepers let Cade through and he dashes to Addy and holds her tight and she sobs and he cries and they just cling to each other and all I can think is-I'm insane. Here I am, voluntarily going into the hellhole where one of the only two people I know I love lost his life. I am certifiably, absolutely insane. Victory, though, looks positively delighted, with a gigantic beam on her face. It makes me sick. "Come, come, darling. What's your name?" she asks excitedly.<br>"Syrena Brooke," I answer sullenly, without a smile. It's all right though, because Victory's million-wattage smiles more than make up for all of Panem. As she gets ready to draw the boy tribute's name, I catch myself hoping for Carter's safety, before I remember that he's gone now. Gone and safe from the reaping. Beheaded. Unworried. Dead. Gone.  
>Instead, Victory gets a wicked grin on her face when she sees the male tribute's name. I get a bad feeling in the pit of my stomach. Victory announces, "And our male tribute will be-Cade Vince!" My instinct was right. This is not good.<br>Cade freezes from where he kneels, hugging Addy, and there is a sudden role-reversal of sorts as Cade is now the one making his way to the stage and Addy is screaming Cade's name and fighting the Peacekeepers. So, my trying to protect Addy and Cade was completely pointless, I think bitterly. The Capitol won anyway, by taking her brother from her instead. In fact, I may have made matters worse for them. Perhaps the odds weren't a factor in the drawing of Cade's name at all. After all, it wouldn't be too difficult to rig a reaping. I'm sure it's been done before, plenty of times.  
>As Cade mounts the stage, I feel his eyes on me as the mayor reads the Treaty of Treason. In an effort to avoid his glance, I search for my family in the crowd. I find Marina quickly, through that distinctive red hair that Carter and I share. She stares forward quietly and resolutely, and I have to admire her bravery. If it weren't for the fact that Mari hates absolutely all weapons and having to kill anything-even fish, I would say that she would do better in the Hunger Games than me-Marina, with her intimidating steel-blue eyes and dauntless, strong aura, and then her persuasive words would garner dozens of sponsors. Whereas I come off more as unlikable and awkwardly clumsy, that is until I get my throwing knives in hand. Hopefully sponsors in the Games put more stock in the training sessions than the interviews with Caesar Flickerman, because I know already there is no way I won't screw the interviews up.<br>I calm my innerly rambling thoughts, and turn my gaze back into the crowd. There is my mother, crying quietly in my father's arms, whose determined expression matches that of Marina's. His eyes look straight into mine, and I give him a small smile. Because I can be like that too, like my father and like Mari and like…like Carter. I too can be strong and brave and resolute. I always have been, and I am going to have to be, if I'm going to win these Games. Because if I don't win…Mari can't lose both her siblings to the Games. I won't let that happen. I am going to come home to District 4, eventually.  
>All of a sudden, the mayor is finished reading the Treaty, and Victory is saying, "Ladies and gentlemen, I give you-the tributes of District 4!" Victory has us shake hands, and when we do, Cade looks me in the eye and mouths, "Thank you." I shrug. Cade getting reaped sort of undid any good my volunteering might have done for the Vinces.<br>I swallow hard, take one last look at my district. Because despite my determination to win, what actually happens may be a very different outcome indeed. 4's not so bad of a place, at least compared to some of the other districts, like 11 with its incredibly strict Peacekeepers or 12 with all the starvation and death. Not to mention, the ocean really is beautiful, the way the blue glints in the sun, fracturing into greens and darker, more ominous blues. And the waves, rolling across the water.  
>Sometimes, when I get lucky enough to have the day off from work, me and Jenner, our neighbor, go surfing. Surfing is an old sport people used to play back when Panem was part of North America. What you do is, you get (or build, like we did) something called a surfboard, which is a long plank of wood that's wide on one end and pointed on the other, and you stand on the board in the water as the waves move it around. And when you get really good, like me and Jenner are, you can do tricks on the board, like surfing through the curl of a wave, or standing on one end of the board and still keep your balance. It's difficult, an art almost that requires a lot of practice, and I can't even count all the scars I've gotten from falling off my board while surfing. But it's exhilarating, pure and simple, and one of the few things I truly enjoy doing. I realize I'm never going to get to surf again. In fact, unless the arena is an ocean (which is unlikely), I'll probably never even see a wave again.<br>All too soon, Cade and I are marched away by Peacekeepers to the Justice Building, where we will say our final good-byes to our family and friends. This building doesn't exactly hold good memories for me, I think, as I nervously fiddle with the trim of my skirt. This was where I last saw Carter, alive and well and looking like himself, not dressed up and playing someone he wasn't. And now, it will be the place my family last sees me.

**A/N: So, sorry this chapter is so long…I couldn't find a good ending point because I didn't have it divided into chapters. I actually have no clue where this story is going, I have it written out a bit farther but I don't know what happens later so if you have any ideas I would love it if you could PM them to me, thanks (: Sorry if I'm a slow updater, or if I just stop writing this one day, because I honestly don't know what's going to happen. Reviews please! Oh and ideas if you have any, thanks (:**

**EDIT: I realized that when Victory drew the boy's name she said "Carter Vince" instead of Cade Vince. Oops, sorry(:**


	2. The Last Time

Marina is the first to enter the room, followed by our parents. She comes straight to the couch where I sit and wraps her arms around me, and I smooth back her hair. She doesn't cry, and neither do I. I've never once cried because I felt sad or hopeless in my life before, not even when Carter died, and I don't plan on starting now. I suppose I cried when I was a baby, but it was so little that my parents barely remember it. Mother is still clinging to Dad, and he tries to soothe her tears. She's nearly hysterical, as she collapses onto the couch beside Mari and me. I can see her trying to hide her rising panic as she clenches her fists and sits perfectly straight, but the tears still roll silently down her cheeks.

"Why?" she finally wails, giving up on trying to be strong for us. "I don't understand, Syrena, why? You were safe for another year, you and Marina, but you threw that all away on…on what? A little girl who you don't even know? You shouldn't have volunteered, you can't go, not especially after…" she trails off. After Carter died. Does she think I'm stupid? That I don't know? I know perfectly well that Carter died in the place I'm going. And I also know perfectly well that I am going to die in that place too. But I also know that I am not going to die without getting revenge. For Carter.

As Mother sobs, I don't think about trying to explain to her the logic behind my volunteering, how the whole situation reminded me of my own with Carter two years ago. But Dad nods, looks at me knowingly with his ocean eyes and takes my hand, squeezes it three times, for _I love you_, and I think he understands, at least partly, about Cade and Addy and Carter.

Now for the first time, I'm really panicking. What is Mari going to do now, after the Capitol has taken both her older siblings away from her? And just Dad's job at the docks isn't going to be anything like enough to feed Marina and Mother and himself. After Carter died, we were already struggling to make ends meet, since he had the highest-paying job of all of us. The good and bad thing was, we had one less mouth to feed after he died. No one said it out loud, because the pain and emotional loss far outweighed the practical benefits. And you'd have to be heartless to take comfort from that.

But the good thing is, even with the loss of my salary, there'll also be another hungry mouth begging for food gone. And if I win…but I can't win. I know that. But still, if I win…if I win we won't ever have to worry about jobs and food ever again. But I won't win. And that's another problem. I'm going to be dead in a matter of days. Then what will Mari do?

Sitting here, watching my mother cry, it finally hits me, the magnitude of what I've done. I'm going to die. Just like Carter did, only he didn't offer himself up for death. "I'm so sorry, Mommy," I say, temporarily reverting back to what I called her as a little girl. I hug Mother, then Dad, and I smooth back Mari's long red hair and kiss her forehead. "Be strong, Mari, okay?" But it's an unnecessary question, because I know Mari too well to think she would ever be anything but strong. She nods bravely, and for the first time in my life I want to cry. But I don't, because Syrena Brooke doesn't cry. Ever. And I think, if I cry, I won't be able to stop and then the cameras will see me crying and Panem will think I'm weak. I am not weak. Like Carter, I am not going to lay down and die in these Games for the Capitol, not without a fight.

Marina isn't crying either, as she reaches into the pocket of her dress and takes out a necklace, made of beads and charms dangling on a leather cord. It's beautiful, the light glinting off the abalone. Mari explains their meanings to me. "This one, the abalone mermaid, is you, because Syrena means mermaid. And then the bead with the ocean painted on it is me, because Marina means ocean." She points to a tiny pearl. "That's Mother, Pearl. And the trident is Dad, Triton." Then there is a translucent blue-green turtle, and I realize who's charm it must be. "Carter's," says Mari, reading my thoughts. Because he loved turtles. And this turtle is the exact color of his eyes.

I swallow hard, looking at the necklace. "It's beautiful." And now I recognize this necklace. "This was Carter's district token, wasn't it," I say. A statement, not a question. Mari nods.

"And now it's yours." Mother fastens the necklace around my neck. She takes my face in her hands, one on each cheek, like she used to do when I was little. She looks straight into my eyes, no longer crying. "Syrena. You can win this. I know you can. Because you are one of the smartest, bravest, strongest girls I have ever met."

"After me, of course," interjects Marina. I laugh a little bit. Now I really am possibly going to cry. But I don't. I won't. Syrena Brooke does not cry.

But now it's Dad who's crying, as he chokes out in a strangled voice, "I am so-proud of my children." His voice breaks, and he wraps his arms around Marina and me. He cries harder as he adds, "All three of my children."

Now my mother is back to sobbing and Mari and I are the only dry-eyed people in the room. Too soon the Peacekeeper is back, shepherding them out, saying their time is up. "I love you all, so much," I say, hugging them good-bye. They say it back to me, and one last kiss and they're gone.

I'm not really expecting any more visitors, but I get one anyway. Addy Vince, who I volunteered for. She's crying quietly, probably just got done saying good-bye to Cade. She wipes at her tears and tries to smile at me. "Thank you, Syrena," she says, "for, you know, volunteering for me."

I shrug. "I was trying to protect you, make sure that Carter-I mean Cade-didn't lose you. Guess it didn't really work, did it."

Addy shrugs too. "S'all right. It was brave of you, especially after…" She trails off, but I know what she was going to say. Especially after Carter died in the arena. I shrug again.

She looks at me, straight at me, with big blue eyes that look much too old for her age. "Can I ask you something, Syrena?"

"Shoot," I nod.

"Do you…do you love my brother?" Her question whizzes at me, straight out of the blue, and knocks me speechless.

"I…I…" I falter. "I don't know." Do I love Cade? I don't think so…and even if I do love him, what's the use? I'm going to end up having to kill him anyway.

"Promise me something, Syrena." I nod, because what else am I supposed to do? "Will you keep Cade safe? Please, don't let him get hurt." Addy is pleading now, her voice frightened like the little girl she is. For a moment, I stare at Addy in shock. Does she know what she is asking of me? In order to keep her brother safe…I am going to have to die. I swallow hard. This girl reminds me too much of me, when Carter left.

"Course I will," I find myself answering. "To the…to the best of my ability. I don't add that the best of my ability isn't very much use in the arena, not with the Gamemakers controlling every aspect, nature at my throat, and not to mention other armed, brutal tributes, especially from 2.

Addy stands, gives me a kiss on the cheek, and then she is gone too. I'm getting ready to leave when one last visitor bursts in the door. "Wait! Wait, Syrena!" It's Jenner, my neighbor. I never really considered us to be friends, just acquaintances…but we did surf together on our days off so I suppose that we are kind of friends.

"Hi, Jenner." He pulls me into a hug. "What are you doing here?"

"Saying good-bye, obviously," he grins, and I smile back at him even though that's the last thing I should be doing in this situation. His expression becomes serious then. "Listen, Syrena, you have no idea how good your chances are for winning this thing. You're strong, you're brave, you're smart, you're gorgeous-" I blush a little at that one. He waves my embarrassment off. "It's true, you're the only one who doesn't know it. The point is, you can do this. I've seen you in the Training Center, you can use every weapon in the book." I shrug.

"I'm not that good with archery," I interrupt, because his highly positive assessment of my skills are getting my hopes up, which is something I can't afford to do. I've accepted the probability of my death…I think. The point is, Jenner's pep talk is doing nothing to help me accept this fact.

He just plows on, though. "If you can get ahold of…of anything, really, you can kill every other person in that arena."

"Doubtful, Jenner. There's twenty-four of us. I can't kill twenty-three people." Because honestly, I can't. They're people, not target dummies, and the consequences of killing a person are infinitely more devastating and uncontrollable than maiming a dummy.

"But you don't have to! I've seen you jumping around those trees with your little sister, you could just hide out up there and everyone else would do the killing for you!"

I shake my head at his blind optimism. "I can't win this, Jenner. I mean, I sure am going to try…but I can't. You must know that."

"Yes, you can," he says, with so much conviction I almost believe him. But then the Peacekeepers take him away too, and I am utterly, fully alone. Now I start to panic. I can't do this, I can't kill people. Sure, I've killed plenty of fish, but that's different. They're fish. Fish don't have loved ones, parents and brothers and sisters and boyfriends or girlfriends who cry buckets when they die. People do. I don't think I can kill someone, knowing that back in their district they might have a little sister who really thought they would win and everything would be okay. Like me, when Carter died.

Carter was the perfect tribute. He shouldn't have lost. He was good-looking and charming enough for the sponsors to give him food and water, he was strong and tough and he could kill anything with his spear. He was well-trained, a Career. Then the rest of the pack turned on him, killed him when he left them to take care of Annie and make sure she didn't die.

"Syrena Brooke?" a Peacekeeper says, and I am led to the train station where hordes of cameras follow me closely and our ride to the Capitol awaits. This is it. My last step in District 4's soil. There's a lump in my throat, and I try to get a glimpse of the ocean, but then I am pulled on the train and the doors slam shut and we are gone.

**A/N: Ok, here's the next chapter(: Review please!**


	3. The Tributes Train

I hate them. I hate them for taking Cade from Addy, for taking Carter from me, for taking me from Marina, and for tearing countless other families apart. If I could, I would drag every sick Gamemaker into the twisted arena they created and then kill them all. Every last one. But I can't, so I settle for giving the Gamemakers my death glare through the cameras, the one that Carter used to say could dry up the sea with its pure burning hatred. Victory escorts me to my compartment on the train. I hate her too, the mindless green babbling Capitol-controlled robot.

Once we get inside my compartment though, my hatred of the Capitol, of Victory, of the world dissipates a bit as I marvel at all the amazing luxuries in the giant cavern that is my room. Since District 4 is reasonably well-off, I've at least seen or heard of some of these things (like showers) but they've never before been mine to use. Victory sees my wonder. "Wait till you see our apartment at the Tributes Center," she laughs. "Well, I'll leave you to get cleaned up!" she says in her ridiculously cheery Capitol accent. "Dinner will be served soon, so hurry!" She leaves, and I am free to explore this amazing world that is the threshold to my death.

First I take a shower. I've had showers before, in the Training Center, but never a Capitol shower. Half a wall of the shower is a panel of buttons, and if Victory is to be believed there will be even more controls in the tributes' apartments. Maybe if I were from 3, where the factories are, this wouldn't be so unbelievable, but I'm not. In 4 the most complicated piece of machinery is the machine that de-bones and de-scales the fish, and those are so simple a five-year-old can fix them. I randomly pick a few buttons, and I am drenched in apple-perfumed water.

Definitely a nicer shower than the Training Center's, though I'm not too sure how I like the perfume. I step out of the shower, wrapping myself in a bathrobe that, according to the label affixed to the sleeve, is "infused with herbal essences and moisturizing lotions", and I marvel at the luxurious bathroom. There's a mirror with three panels, scrubbed sparklingly clean, nothing like the single cracked, dusty mirror in our house that we all shared. Two sinks, side-by-side, with panels of controls like the shower's, but in miniature. Why there are two sinks I don't know. I can only brush my teeth at one sink at a time.

Stepping out into the bedroom, I find the closet, a giant double-doored wardrobe that won't open when I pull on the handles. That's when I notice the screen that has come to life on the door, like some sort of automated mirror, that I have to program to get clothes. So I enter the season-SUMMER, and the occasion-DINNER. The closet spits out a bright green cocktail dress, all frills and ruffles, the sort of thing Victory would adore, and matching shoes with ridiculously high heels I would never wear.

Well then. I didn't expect the closet to take "dinner" to mean a fancy state arrangement with everyone from Head Gamemaker Cillian Magnus to President Coriolanus Snow in attendance. I amend the occasion to CASUAL LUNCH, and the outfit is returned and replaced with a blue blouse and black pants and bright blue high-heeled shoes. The clothes are all right, and I put them on, but the shoes won't do, not if I want to get through dinner without falling and taking out some poor Avox servant. So instead I lace up my old black leather boots and dump the heels in the corner of my compartment. Then Victory comes knocking on my door. "Syrena darling!" she screeches angrily. "What exactly have you been doing for the past two hours! Dinner's been ready for ages, and we can't possibly begin eating without you!"

First I feel bad, not for Victory, but for making Cade wait to eat. "I'm sorry," I say, but then I add, "You didn't have to wait for me, you know. You could've eaten. I wouldn't mind." I follow her out of my room.

Victory sniffs. "It wouldn't be proper," she says, and leads me to the dining compartment, with a long table and a sparkling chandelier. I take a seat beside Cade, Victory sits at the head of the table, and Finnick and Annie sit together across from me and Cade. "Lovely!" says Victory. "Now we can _finally_ begin eating." She gives me a pointed glare.

Cade rolls his eyes. "Ignore her," he says in a low voice. "We were only waiting a couple minutes before you turned up. She's just being overly dramatic. As usual." Finnick and I snicker, and even Annie gives a smile.

Victory just glares. "I _heard_ that, Cade Vince." We all bite back outright laughter at Victory's pompous tone, and eventually Victory cracks and smiles too. Huh. Maybe Victory Vermilion isn't all bad.

Our server, an Avox-a traitor whose tongue the Capitol cut out and forced to become a slave-places an ornate glass bowl in the center of our table, filled to the brim with an odd golden-colored soup. Victory daintily picks up the decorative ladle and dips it into the soup, serving herself a generous helping in her tall crystal glass. I do the same, filling my glass with the soup. It's a delicious, tangy explosion of various flavors…the way I imagine molten light might taste, and I greedily devour two more helpings. Then the soup is whisked away and replaced with a heaping feast. My stomach feels a bit queasy at the thought of more food, but I push it away when I see the magnificence of this food.

I stare in awe at the meal full of foods I've only heard of and never eaten-roast duck, fine white bakery rolls, wild rice, potatoes. I've never before seen so much food gathered together in my life, except for the daily catch spread across the dock, and I hardly think flopping, half-alive fish count. I know Cade's expression must be identical to mine, because Finnick makes fun of our faces. "What're you two staring at? My incredibly god-like, well-proportioned features?" he jokes.

I laugh loftily. "Hardly. I don't know about Cade here, but I was admiring the subtly gorgeous wall paint behind you."

Fighting to keep a straight face, Cade adds, "And I was examining the fine workmanship of Victory darling's wig." My poker face is ruined as I break into un-ladylike guffaws.

"Cade!" exclaims Victory, for once at a loss for words. "I-this-how dare you imply-" but she soon dissolves into laughter as well. I don't see how Cade manages to be so effortlessly funny and charming and lighthearted right now. It's taking all of my willpower not to be openly hostile to Victory and the servers right now, and even more of my willpower to not just jump off the train. Although, the delectable food is helping.

Later, after stuffing myself full of duck and rice and potatoes, plus a fruit salad and "cheesecake" (which, according to Victory, actually is not a wheel of cheese, as its name suggests), Cade and I return to our respective compartments for bed, where the closet gives me a pink nightgown that isn't too bad frills-wise, other than the rather unfortunate color, so I put it on.

I clean my teeth and brush out my long red hair. I'm washing my face when a knock comes at my door. I go and pull it open, expecting to see Victory but instead it's Cade, standing awkwardly in the hallway. "Cade?" I ask. What is he doing here?

"Yes, that would be my name," he grins. Then his face becomes serious. "I need to talk to you."

I blink. "Um…okay. Do you…want to come in?" I pull the door open all the way and Cade steps inside. We sit side-by-side in the seat by the window, watching lights in the distance speed by. For a while we sit in silence, and I wait for him to talk.

"Syrena," he says. "Look at me." So I do. His normally joking face is inscrutable. "Why…why did you volunteer for Addy?"

Now it's my turn to stare moodily off into the distance. I don't trust my voice to talk about Carter without breaking, which would make me look weak, and it might make me cry. Syrena Brooke does not cry. I keep my gaze fixed outside and I try to concoct a lie. _I felt bad for your sister. I wanted to win the Games and the glory that comes with that_. Because with a bit of luck I could win the Games. And Cade would probably believe me. Anyone who's seen me in the Training Center with my knives and trident would automatically think that I'm just another Career robot. But neither of those lies feel believable. Cade leans over and nudges me, and I look at him. "I-I did it for you." My voice cracks a bit. I'm still lying, I know. My reasons for volunteering were entirely selfish, because if I hadn't I couldn't have lived with myself.

His carefully-guarded façade drops a bit, and I can tell he was not expecting me to say that. But he regains his composure quickly. Cade laughs lightly, a bit disbelievingly. "No, really, Syrena. You know that's not the full reason." I hesitate before I speak again. But really, what does it matter? Why should I lie to him anyway? More than likely the both of us will be dead in a few weeks. And corpses can't betray secrets.

"Okay." I swallow hard. "My brother, Carter Brooke, was in the 70th Hunger Games with Annie." My voice is hollow, emotionless, completely numb. Much like the way it was two years ago. I can see the shock in Cade's eyes, about to be replaced by pity. I can't stand pity. Brusquely, I add, "He died, obviously." To get the painful out of the way. "You today, with Addy…you reminded me of my situation with Carter. You would've volunteered if you could've, because I know I would volunteer for Marina in a heartbeat. I would have volunteered for Carter in half." I shrug. "Really, I just did what I wish someone did for me."

For a while Cade is silent, and I can feel his searching gaze trained on me, and I look away, out of the window, into the dark night. Then when he finally speaks, it's so quiet I barely catch his words. "Thank you, Syrena." I just nod, still turned away from him. Horrified, I realize I am shaking, shaking with tears. This is wrong, all wrong. Syrena Brooke doesn't cry. Ever. When Carter died, even then, I just went hollow and empty and stayed away from people and sought comfort in my throwing knives. Yet here I am. Crying. I do my best to hold back the tears, but I know that I won't be able to keep them hidden for long.

Then Cade feels me shaking, and puts his arms around me. I tense up, wary of his touch, of this boy who I've known since forever, but really, I don't know at all. But it's such a brotherly gesture that I relax. His warmth makes me realize how cold I am. Like a dead body. Well, it's not far from the truth. But as the darkness becomes heavy on my eyelids, I relax, and then slowly, slowly, the first tear falls. The tears make the lights in the distance blur together, and I look up at Cade. In this light, with my tear-soaked eyes, his eyes, normally dark blue, look green.

The exact same shade of green as grass. The same shade as the turtle that hangs from my neck. The same shade of green as Carter's eyes. And that brings a fresh wave of tears, to me, the girl who never cries, even when she got hit by a wayward knife in training.

And Carter's eyes are the last thing I see as my own close.

**A/N: Ok, here's Chapter 3, hope you like it (: Do you have any ideas for the arena, parade/interview costumes, anything? I would be really grateful if you PM'd them to me. Thanks! Enjoy Chapter 3 and review please!**


	4. The Nightmare

Carter stands at the reaping, his back towards me. My face breaks into a smile. It's been so long since I've seen him, happy and healthy and whole, not broken by the arena. He's turned away from me, so I call his name trying to get him to turn, so I can see his green eyes and his smile.

Instead, the reaping begins and Victory withdraws a folded green paper flower and deftly unwraps it with a flick of her wrist. "Carter Brooke." Her voice is robotic, emotionless. I panic.

"No! I volunteer! I volunteer as tribute!" I scream, my voice choked and twisted in my throat. Finally, Carter turns to face me. But…it's not Carter. Instead, Cade stands before me, his eyes grass green-Carter's green. He takes a step towards me.

"Syrena Brooke doesn't cry. Syrena Brooke doesn't cry," he chants, marching steadily forward.

"Stop!" I shout, but he just monotonously drones on. "Cade, stop it!" He doesn't, and I move to slap him, when the ax flies out of nowhere and embeds itself in Cade's neck. Blood spurts onto my fancy blue reaping dress, and Cade's severed head tumbles grotesquely to the ground, followed by his limp body.

"Syrena Brooke doesn't cry," whispers Cade's head one final time, and then he closes Carter's eyes, his body a corpse. I feel sick. There is a cackling laugh, and my head snaps up, instantly alert. It's Cassia Meyers, the girl from 7 in Carter's Games. The girl who Carter trusted. Cassia glares at me, with an evil grin as she twirls a second ax in her hands.

"You killed him!" I simultaneously scream and sob, and I'm not exactly sure if I'm talking about Carter or Cade.

My first-ever throwing knife appears in my hand. Just one. I realize what this means-that I have exactly one shot to do this, to get revenge, to kill Cassia Meyers. I aim well, carefully but quickly. Cassia dares me to throw, taunts me with her knowing smile. So I do, my knife flying straight at Cassia, finding its mark deep in her chest.

A familiar, ear-splitting scream rings from Cassia's lips. She begins to transform, her hair brightening, becoming flame-colored as she shrinks in size, age, and stature. Her eyes turn a pale blue and the transformation is complete.

"Marina!" The word tears from my mouth in a shriek.

I sprint to Mari, where she lies collapsed on the ground, blood blossoming around her wound, the knife buried up to the hilt in her heart. My knife. I have killed-murdered-my own sister.

"Marina, Mari, no!" I scream. I wrench the knife from her body and the tears spill until Marina and I are bobbing in an ocean. I hurl the knife with all my strength and anger as far away into the ocean as possible.

"Syr…ena," whispers Mari shakily, and I clasp her hand tight. Then the light fades from her light blue eyes and the blood swirls throughout the water. Gently as possible, I shut her eyelids, so that she could possibly be sleeping, if you ignore the bloodstains.

"Bye, Marina," I answer, and she floats away.

I hear the dry, scratching laugh. The cackle.

Cassia Meyers stands unharmed on the shore.

**A/N: Short chapter today, but I'll try to upload the next chapter as soon as possible. Probably not tomorrow because I have the track city meet and I'll be there the whole night, but I'll try to get another chapter up sometime before the weekend. Enjoy and review please! ****J**


	5. Breakfast at Victory's

I startle awake with a gasp, wrapped and suffocated in a mess of luxurious silk sheets. The fabric chokes me, and I quickly untangle myself from the claustrophobic bed and sit down beside the window, watching the grass rush by at more than 200 miles per hour. I never imagined I would ever be able to go this fast. Then again, I never imagined I would voluntarily go to the Hunger Games, either.

As I get ready for breakfast, the nightmare I had last night returns to me in broken pieces. I shudder, at the looming possibility of the dream coming true.

I make my way to the dining compartment where we ate last night, where I find Victory and Finnick and Annie all sitting and eating, but no Cade. That's when I remember exactly what happened last night-how I sobbed my eyes out and Cade acted like it was perfectly fine, perfectly _normal_ even, to have Syrena Brooke crying all over his shirt. Well, there goes the reputation I built up of being tough and brave and strong.

When I sit down with a plate loaded with Capitol breakfast foods, I feel exhausted. And I am definitely not in the mood to listen to Victory's mindless chatter. But immediately, off she goes.

"We should reach the Capitol before midnight!" bubbles Victory, taking a dainty sip of a frothy green drink. "Oh, you are just going to _love_ it! Of course, coming from District Four, you won't be as shocked as some of the tributes from poorer districts, like, say, Twelve, but all the same!"

Woodenly, I eat my breakfast as Victory prattles on about the Capitol, and I try to tune out her voice. I try to strategize about how I am going to protect Cade as best as I can, in order to keep my promise to his sister. I can't ally with him, obviously. Then it might get down to just the two of us and I would be forced to kill him. Eventually, as I stare into the swirling foam of the hot coffee, I come to the conclusion that I have to help him without him knowing I'm helping him. I look up at the clock, and I realize it took me twenty minutes just to decide that one, minuscule thing. My brain is not working at the moment. I take a sip of the coffee, and nearly spit it out at its bitter taste.

Annie laughs at my expression. She opens a small silver tin and holds something out to me. "Sugar cube?" she asks. "It improves the taste." She grins. It's hard to hate her, even though she was the one who came home instead of Carter. And maybe, just maybe, she isn't as mad as everyone says she is.

I smile. "Sure, thanks." I take the sugar cube and pop it into my mouth instead of the coffee, because honestly I've never had real, white sugar before, and I'm certainly not going to waste my first cube of the stuff on a disgusting drink that I'm probably not going to finish.

Despite its terrible taste, the caffeine in the coffee energizes me a bit, enough so that I can finish my strategizing-which is to, from now on, avoid Cade studiously. If we become friends, he will expect to ally in the arena, and I can't let that happen.

When I'm nearly done eating, Cade walks in, cursing. "Language!" admonishes Victory, looking as if Cade's directionless muttering is a personal affront to her. Then again, knowing Victory, who takes personal affront at everything, it probably is.

Cade is bleeding from his knuckles, bleeding heavily. "Great seas, Cade," I say immediately, forgetting my promise to myself to protect him by avoiding him. "What did you do?" I fill a glass with water and pour it over his clenched fist, prying it open to clean off the blood with a fancy fabric napkin embroidered with the Capitol seal.

"Well…" he hedges, looking a bit sheepish. "I may or may not have punched a wall." I give him an incredulous stare, and Finnick chortles. Victory just sniffs disapprovingly, like she always does.

"Why?" asks Annie curiously, and we all turn to Cade to hear his answer, or his excuse, more likely.

He looks extremely uncomfortable, fidgets a bit. "Uh…no reason. I…I wanted to get some practice in before training starts." He's lying, very obviously lying. "I'll just…go and…clean this up in my room." He rushes out of the compartment.

I drop the blood-covered napkin, turn to follow him. "I'm done too." I go out into the corridor and see him, a few steps ahead, walking quickly. "Cade!" I call out. He doesn't turn, just speeds up and ignores me. He pushes open the doors to his compartment, and I barge in after him, ignoring the breach in etiquette. After all, didn't he do as much last night?

His compartment is a carbon copy of my own, with subtly masculine differences. Cade sits on his bed, not looking at all surprised that I followed him here. I sit down beside him, nudge him. "What _really_ happened?" I ask.

Cade tries to brush it off as nothing. "I told you, I hit a wall. See?" he points across the room at a section of wall bashed in, beside the wall-screen television. The mark in the paneled wood is in the shape of a fist. He must be strong. Or really angry. But why? When I ask, he shrugs.

"Don't you dare lie," I warn him, and he sighs.

"Great seas, Syrena. Are you always so stubborn?" I laugh and tell him no, I can be much worse. Like how I insisted that Calypso, my trainer, teach me to swordfight when I was a skinny barely thirteen-year-old and the sword was nearly heavier than me. I had to lift weights for weeks before I could handle the sword's weight for a sufficient enough amount of time to actually try and combat somebody.

Finally, Cade agrees to tell me. "This," he says, "is what made me so angry." He flicks on the wall-screen television. It's Caesar Flickerman, the iconic host of the Hunger Games, dyed lime green. Victory will go into conniptions of pure ecstasy. He is interviewing this year's Head Gamemaker, Cillian Kloss, a man who rather reminds me of a duck.

"So, what do you think we can expect in the arena this year, Cillian?" Caesar is asking.

"Well, obviously I can't give you details," answers Kloss, in a slightly quacking voice that makes me wonder if he's surgically altered himself to resemble a duck. "But it _is_ the Hunger Games," he adds. Well, isn't Kloss a bright one? "What's expected is never expected." Kloss winks at the end of his little speech.

Caesar nods philosophically. "Well spoke, well spoke," he intones gravely. Well spoke? I didn't follow a word of that. But Caesar Flickerman plows on. "It was a terrible thing, the Dark Days. And how, do you think, do the Games help us to remember, and honor, those who died?"

Kloss's response is standard. Every Gamemaker says it at some point in time. "Well, I think it was a sort of a…a recovery for Panem, for us as a nation. It's…a way of honoring those deaths and brings us together, unites us. A common bond, so to speak…it's how we safeguard our future."

Straight from a propaganda ad, complete with deep, dramatic pauses for effect. I look at Cade, who seems to be getting angrier as the interview goes on. "Cade, stop. It's what they always say. It's how it is. It makes me sick, but…but there's nothing we can do." He glares at me, gets up and goes to the bathroom to clean his hand with the Capitol's fancy medicines and salves and to bandage it up.

"Yes, there is," he answers angrily. "We could stop this. The Games. We could rebel and take the Capitol down and…" He slams the cap down on a pot of medicine. "And I don't know. _Something_."

I laugh bitterly. "No, Cade. There isn't anything we can do, so don't trick yourself, don't fool yourself into thinking there is." My voice has risen to a shout. I get up to leave his room, just as angry now as he is, when he says something to stop me.

"Do you want to know what made me so angry in the first place, before I came to breakfast?" His voice is quiet, almost eerily calm. "They were discussing the odds. How sometimes things get twisted until odds don't really matter anymore." My throat tightens. "They were talking about your brother, Syrena. How he had all the odds in his favor-he was good-looking, he charmed everyone in his interviews with Caesar Flickerman, he was strong, he had that sword, he was a Career. How he did everything right. One man said he'd been betting on Carter the whole Games. Even when that Cassia girl from Seven had him pinned, he said, he still believed Carter would get away. That's how good he was. And yet he lost." Then all of a sudden it's like a dam has broken and Cade is screaming too, even louder than I was, and it's a shock because this is Cade and he is good-natured and charming and kind and everything I am not. "That's what made me so angry, okay, Syrena? _Now_ do you think I have the right to be mad? The right to rage against the people who are doing this to us, who did this to Finnick, Annie, to your brother? This is why I want to change things! For you, for me, for everyone in District Four and One and Two and everywhere else in Panem! Okay?" And then he's quiet again.

Shaking my head, I answer quietly, "That doesn't matter. We don't have any rights."

Then I turn on my heel and leave, and go straight to my room.

Doesn't he see how pointless that kind of thinking is? We can't stop the Capitol's moves. In fact, we can barely even try to change their course. After all, we're nothing to them, just symbolic, replaceable sacrifices with no power, or real authority. Then as victors we are just figureheads, supposedly in positions of power, but really, we still belong to the Capitol.

We're nothing.

**A/N: All right, chapter 5 is up! Enjoy and review please! (:**

**EDIT: I found a typo, that's all. Chapter 6 should be up later (:**


	6. The Tributes Center

The train pulls to a stop in the Capitol station, which is brightly lit and crowded with people even though it's nearly midnight. The colorfully painted Capitol citizens mob the station, laughing and cheering and vying for a glimpse of me and Cade.

Cade emerges from his compartment, and Finnick and Annie stand talking to Victory in the corridor. Cade looks at me, and I feel a bit bad for being so rude when he and I watched the interview. I want to apologize, but I can't find the words to. Luckily, he beats me to it. "Listen, Syrena, I'm sorry I shouted at you about Carter. Really. I shouldn't have." I shrug.

"It's fine." We line up to leave the train. "Ready?" I ask him.

"Ready as I'll ever be," he shrugs. The train doors slide open, and the crowd's roar is deafening as we walk out into it, ringed by Peacekeepers. "Great seas," breathes Cade, in awe, but then it's like something snaps into place and he becomes a whole other person.

I paste a glare onto my face, trying to look as menacing as possible as we push through the crowds, towards the Tributes Center. This can be my angle for the cameras-a brutal, heartless Career girl. It won't be too difficult of a persona for me to play-at least, much easier than being charming and funny and beautiful.

Looking over, I see that charming and funny and good-looking is exactly what Cade is being, as he smiles and waves and laughs at a photographer's joke as though they are old friends. It's almost like he's already forgotten his anger on the train. No-he hasn't fully forgotten. His bandaged fist is still clenched tightly, and I see this whole friendly persona is an act, just as my hostile expression is. Well-for the most part.

Finally, mercifully, we enter the lobby of the Tributes Center, and the cameras take their leave. The all-white, giant foyer is nearly empty, except for a single white couch, a glass elevator, and a strangely shaped chandelier. I don't see the point of so much space for so little furniture, and I say so, but that just causes Victory to sniff and say, "It's minimalist. I wouldn't expect you to understand its beauty."

I roll my eyes at Victory, and we enter the glass elevator. Finnick presses a button labeled 4, and the doors swoop closed and the ground drops away with breathtaking speed. A bell _dings_, announcing our arrival as the elevator pulls to a smooth stop, and the doors slide open again.

Now we stand in a small foyer of sorts, before a large door stamped with a steel 4. A small camera and screen are mounted beside the door. Victory presses her eye up to the camera, and moments later, a small beep sounds and the screen flashes, saying BIOMETRIC PATTERN STORED. ENTER YOUR NAME. Victory types in _Victory Vermilion_ swiftly and she motions me forward and I peer into the camera as well. I see that it is actually a fancy retinal scanner, which I have heard of but never seen. This door must be unlocked only if the code of your eye is stored in your memory.

The scanner whirrs, once clockwise, then the other way, and there is another quiet beep as it stores my pattern. I type in my name as Victory did, but awkwardly, searching for letters excruciatingly slowly. _Strwna brooike_, the screen ends up reading, but Victory sighs and quickly fixes my mistakes to _Syrena Brooke_. Next the scanner records Finnick's, Annie's, and Cade's eye patterns, and with a final beep, the door is unlocked. "Are you ready?" bubbles Victory excitedly, rubbing her hands together. She pushes the door open and ushers us inside.

My breath catches.

The décor up here is as different from the stark lobby as can be. The living and dining rooms are filled with expensive furniture that look almost alien, that's how different it is from back home in 4. The rooms are filled with even more complicated contraptions than the compartments on the train were. The shower, for example, has an even larger selection of buttons to choose from than the train shower did. I take a shower, this time choosing my controls more carefully and I manage to get through a shower without being doused in any strange fruity or floral fragrances. When I step onto a mat outside the shower, hot air blows around me and dries me off instantly.

Pulling on a robe, I marvel at the luxurious white marble bathroom. For a room with such a simple, common function, there seems to be a lot of fancy excess. For a moment I just glare at everything, hating it all, hating that these Capitol citizens are mindlessly wasting their money on extra shower controls when that homeless little girl, Maia, who slept on the streets back home in 4, is probably starving to death right now. And if it's like that in 4, which is supposedly a reasonably wealthy district, how much worse is it in the others, like the border districts?

But then I tell myself I'm going to die anyways so I might as well try to enjoy this while I can. Even though I know it's not true that I should be enjoying this, telling myself that keeps my mind off of things. Namely, reality. So I look around the bathroom, at all the unnecessary gadgets. There is a silvery box mounted on the wall beside the mirror, and I place my hand on it. It hums, and electricity is sent through my hair, smoothing and untangling it into a perfect red cascade down my back . I turn to the mirror, and when I make eye contact with my reflection, the mirror comes to life.

Blue touch screen controls spin across the smooth glass, and it turns out that I can alter the background and lighting of my reflection, and use it to virtually try on clothes and surgical procedures and other Capitol vanities. To entertain myself, and to keep my mind off things, I mess around with the mirror, changing my reflection beyond recognition. When I am finished, my reflection has a pig's nose, blue tiger-stripe tattoos, claw-like nails painted bloodred, a poufy bright orange coif, and a long sparkly rose-pink evening gown. Needless to say, I look ridiculous, but exactly like a Capitol citizen.

Which I suppose it what I am now. Either a Capitol citizen or dead. Even if I do win, I won't ever be able to go back to being who I was-Syrena Brooke, the girl from 4 who could wield a trident better than anyone, except for maybe Finnick Odair.

Because if there's one thing I know, it's that spending time as a tribute changes you. Poor Annie came back from the Capitol almost entirely insane, and she's only just now recovering. And Finnick…well, we all know what happened to Finnick. He became a citizen of the Capitol too. Or their slave, more like. And that's the pleasant term for it.

It almost makes me grateful that Carter didn't make it home. Who knows what he would've been like, what might've happened to him. At least this way, I know exactly where he is-in the ground. And perfectly safe, too.

No doubt, if I win these Games, I will end up the same way as either Finnick or Annie, one or the other. Or worse.

Shaking off my morbid thoughts, I go to the electronic closet that is twice the size of the closet on the train, and it gives me a white T-shirt and an incredibly soft pair of grey sweatpants specially made in District 8. Of course. Textiles. They would-should-know how to make fabric that feels like it's melting against your skin. Beside the closet, a small card is propped up against a small microphone inside a perfectly cut rectangular hole in the wall. The card is actually a menu, an extraordinarily long list of foods that I can order with the mike.

Within moments, I am eating delicately frosted little cakes, honey mixed with fresh spring water, and salty crackers that remind me of the greenish seaweed-flavored bread back home. I finish and sit down on the bed, ready to go to sleep. Finding a small remote that controls the room's settings, I press a button and the plain gray walls swirl into the Capitol skyline at night. With another touch they transform into a bustling city street, then a quiet green forest. With the final button I touch, the walls melt into an ocean, the waves crashing on the shore.

I press my fingers against the wall, wishing to break through the cold hard glass and feel water against my hand. I'd thought that back home in 4 would be the last time I could see the sea, the real sea, and it turned out I was right. This isn't the ocean, just a pale imitation. But for now it is enough for comfort, and I wrap myself into the sheets of the bed (carefully calibrated to optimal temperature). The waves are the only familiar thing in this strange digital landscape, and technically they are the most digital thing in this room. But I try to forget that fact. I wonder, if I am the only one taking comfort from these walls. Maybe Cade is watching the ocean too, right now. Or perhaps a tribute from 11 is currently being rocked to sleep in the treetops, with mockingjays chorusing lullabies. Or 12 is taking comfort from a coal mine.

The thought makes me smile a little of any sane person being comforted by a dark, claustrophobic mine. And that makes me realize that no matter what, this safety is an illusion. Because twenty-three of us are being led to the slaughter.

Safety will never again be an option.

**A/N: Here's chapter 6, enjoy and review please(:**


	7. The Stylist

**A/N: Wow, I'm an idiot…I completely missed a chapter while posting! So, here is the REAL chapter 7, and so now chapter 7 is chapter 8, and chapter 8 is now chapter 9...So sorry! I was reading through the old chapter 7 and I realized that this was the chapter that introduced some important characters and I completely missed that.. Xx enjoy (:**

The Capitol awes me, though not in an altogether good way. All of the buildings are imposingly grand, and painted as garishly colorful as their inhabitants. I make my way down the street, praying no one recognizes me as a tribute and inquires as to why I am not at the Tributes Center like I should be. Thankfully, the opening ceremonies aren't until tonight, or else I'd surely be recognized and stopped. As it is, the Capitol viewers have only caught a few glimpses of my face in the replays of the reapings, and I hardly looked myself then.

As I try to casually stroll down the avenue, I adjust my disguise, which is a giant floppy yellow hat that covers my red hair, my most noticeable feature back in 4. Although I'm sure that there are many who dye their hair even more outrageously unnatural colors, here in the Capitol. In fact, right now, a man with vibrant purple curls just walked by, which are most definitely not natural. He turns left, entering a gated park, and I follow him. The plaque beside the gate reads:

_The Memorial Park of the Hunger Games. Dedicated to the courage of the citizens of the Capitol during the Dark Days, when the districts rose up in rebellion and were subsequently crushed in much unnecessary bloodshed. In remembrance of the sacrifices made the Treaty of Treason was written, calling for one young man and woman from each district between the ages of twelve and eighteen to be offered up in tribute. Twenty-four tributes would be selected through a lottery, known as the reaping, and they would be trained in the art of survival and placed in an arena to fight to the death. As a reminder of the forgiveness and grace of Panem, the last tribute standing would become the victor. This park is in memorial of these brave tributes who gave their lives, and the victors who represent hope and strength._

I want to gag, reading all this. But I walk into the park anyway, hoping to maybe find Carter's name somewhere, maybe on a list of all those courageous tributes. Some sign that the world hasn't completely forgotten him.

The entrance is a well-marked trail, leading up to a grassy knoll, at the top of which stands a cluster of marble statues, in the likenesses of the presidents who reigned during the Hunger Games, of which there have only been two, since each president reigns for life or until their resignation-Snow and old Septimus Medalla, who helped to draft the Treaty of Treason. Another statue honors the Head Gamemaker of the 48th Hunger Games, widely acknowledged in the Capitol as one of the most exciting Games of all time.

Past the knoll, there is a beautiful stone fountain, flanked by tablets engraved with the numbers 25 and 50, in remembrance of the past two Quarter Quells, when the Gamemakers added horrific twists to the Games. In the 25th Hunger Games, as a reminder that, according to the tablet, _their children were dying because of their choice to initiate violence_, instead of the customary reaping, the tributes were elected. Voted for, by their own districts. Some districts chose the weak, some voted for the strong, but twenty-three all died, as per usual. The 50th Hunger Games were particularly terrible, with double the number of tributes, _as a reminder that two rebels died for every Capitol citizen_. Forty-seven dead kids instead of twenty-three…the Quarter Quells almost make the regular Hunger Games look humane. The Gamemakers will probably begin planning the next Quell as soon as these Games are over. After all, they will only have three years to do it. Thank goodness I will be either dead or a victor by then, and therefore ineligible.

I pass the fountain, and then I see a small sign for the Victors' Garden. It is blooming with summer and roses, and stepping stones wind through the garden, creating a pathway. As I look closer, I see each stone is engraved with a victor's name and district and the Games they won. Seventy-one stones in all. I see Mags's stone, and Finnick's-the 65th Hunger Games. Annie's stone-the 70th Hunger Games. Countless other District 4 Careers' names in between. I sit and I desperately wish I could add a stone, one etched with the name Carter Brooke, District 4, so that he would still be alive. But I can't.

So instead I leave the Memorial Garden and return to the Tributes Center, hoping to sneak back in quietly. I know that the eye scanner's information feed will have picked up that I left without permission, but honestly, as long as Victory never knows, everything will be-

Great seas. She's waiting for me in the sterile, "minimalist" lobby. The moment Victory sees me, she jumps up on her stiletto heels and attacks me. "_What_ exactly are you doing!" she shrieks. "You're not supposed to leave the Tributes Center, and we were supposed to be at the Remake Center an _hour_ ago!"

She drags me off and pushes me into a black car with tinted windows without stopping to listen to my excuses. "Cade's already being prepped by his team. You need to be prepped to, and heaven knows you need it more than he does!"

And so I am forced to spend the next four hours of my life being waxed and polished and manicured, and my hair is washed and tamed, and my skin is moisturized and scrubbed until it glows, and finally I am allowed to sit up and stop being perfected. My prep team-Leonard, Angel, and Athena-flurry around me, tugging on my hair and making finishing touches before I meet my stylist, Dominique.

"Perfection!" proclaims Athena, who resembles a tall, willowy tree (quite literally). Angel, a woman with surgically implanted wings which are far too small to actually help her take to the air, and Leo, a man with blue-green curls and an abnormally large nose I'm not sure is altogether natural, nod their agreement. I suppose this means I'm finally finished.

Wistfully, Leo, who is in charge of my hair, wraps a curl of it around his finger. "It's a shame Dom said to leave your hair alone. There's so much I could do with this spectrum of reds!" I smile weakly.

"Perhaps, but it's also impossible not to clash with," says a dryly irritated voice. A slim, tall woman with a long silver braid steps into the room. "Syrena. I'm your stylist, Dominique." I shake her hand, and notice that she has androgynous features clear of make-up, and unsettlingly pale blue eyes.

Dominique dismisses Leo, Angel, and Athena, and with a press of some unseen button, causes our lunch to rise up out of the marble floor. We sit and I take a bit of the steaming hot pasta. "You know, I presume, of the opening ceremonies?" asks Dominique. I nod, but it's a rhetorical question, because everyone in Panem knows of the opening ceremonies. Tonight, the twenty-four tributes will be dressed up in costumes representing our districts and paraded about the Capitol.

"Usually, District Four is dressed up as fish, or dockworkers, or some other awful, unoriginal costume," says Dominique disgustedly. "Cade's stylist, Isaac and I don't want to do that."

"So…what exactly _do_ you want to do?" I ask tentatively. Dominique breaks into a rare smile.

"Do you know what a mermaid is, Syrena?"


	8. The Opening Ceremonies

Leo, Angel, and Athena bubble excitedly around me as they help me into my costume. "Are your eyes still closed?" asks Angel giddily, and I nod. My costume must be quite awful if Dominique doesn't want me to see myself in it until it's time to leave. Probably so I won't have a chance to protest.

I don't like having my eyes closed, having my senses impaired in this way. But when I try to open my eyes, Angel bats at my head with her long claw-like nails, stinging my cheek. So I just let them put my costume on me. All I know about my costume is that it has something to do with mermaids and enchantresses, because supposedly that's what Syrena means. I also know that I'm supposedly going to adore it, according to Leo, because "Dom is an absolute _genius_ with silk and lace!" So I guess my costume is made of silk and lace.

Finally, Athena fastens one last button and whispers reverently, "Okay, now you can open your eyes."

My eyes snap open immediately. I look into the full-length mirror and my breath catches. I'm dressed in a ball gown, the kind of dress you would only see in the Hunger Games, certainly not in District 4 or anywhere else. The skirt is tight around my legs but swaths of silk fan out at my knees, exactly like a mermaid's tail. Layers of lace float around my arms and make up the bodice of the gown, and it almost looks as though a wave of water has been poured about me and is cascading down and around my body, ending in a train of frothy white sea foam lace at my feet.

The prep team claps their hands delightedly as I spin slowly to show them the back of the dress, and Dominique helps me into blue high heels with designs stitched in iridescent silver thread, and then the prep team starts in on my hair and make-up. When they are finished, my hair falls in perfect waves that seem redder than ever, and my eyes seem big and blue and enchanting.

Tonight, it's not a stretch to imagine that the reflection in the mirror uses those innocent, dewy eyes to lure men to their deaths in the water. She doesn't look like me, doesn't feel like me.

Dominique instructs me to close my eyes again, and I obey unwillingly. She finger-combs through my hair quickly and places something heavy on my head. When I am allowed to open my eyes again, a beautifully simple circlet of abalone sits atop my head, and a translucent veil of lace and pearls is twined and woven into my hair, creating an effect like water running through my hair.

I am beautiful, gorgeous beyond belief, but none of this-the make-up, the hair, the gown-feels right or comfortable or like me. And none of this luxury changes the fact that I and twenty-three other teenagers will be forced to fight to the death. At every turn a new wonder awaits, a wonder designed to make me, us, the tributes, forget that fact, the fact that the Capitol is cruel and sending us into certain torture and nearly just as certain death. And I cannot forget that. I have to remember, or else I'll never get home.

As the District 1 chariot begins the journey down the avenue, which is a mile long and ends with the chariots converging at the City Circle, the only thing I manage to register is the roaring. It sounds like a giant wave, like when there is a storm and the surf crashes up against the shore back home. Only here, the ocean is a crowd of garishly painted Capitol citizens, pressing around excitedly to catch a glimpse of the tributes, of us.

The anthem of the Capitol blasts, loudly enough to be heard over the constant screaming of the crowd. They greet with growing excitement the tributes from 1, 2, and 3, each dressed as jewels, rocks, and glowing gadgets, respectively. By the time we roll out, in our sea god-inspired inspired finery, the crowd has reached a fever pitch.

Cade begins smiling and waving, while I only stare mutely in dumbstruck shock. The sound swells and they see Dominique and Isaac's work, stunning on our bodies, made glorious by the surroundings-the towering, imposing Capitol architecture, with sparkling admiration from its inhabitants. They chant our names, our district number, and when they see my dress, they murmur to each other-_mermaid_.

It's an old word, barely used by any but those in 4 with the clearest memories. When the Hunger Games replaced myths and fairy tales in terms of entertainment, _mermaids_ basically became obsolete, along with dragons and unicorns and dwarves and other magical creatures. One legend remained, buried in the back of District 4 culture, a legend of the enchantress Syrena, who had a fish's tail and a beautiful human head and torso. She lured sailors into the sea with her magic voice and beautiful face, lured them to their watery deaths in the depths of the ocean where she drowned and ate them. The legend goes that Syrena, the original Syrena, had hair like a brilliant flame on the water, and when I was born, supposedly my hair was the exact prism of colors that makes up fire. My hair's color toned down, but I kept the name.

This dress, this creation that makes me look like the first Syrena emerging dripping from the sea, this dress has dragged the word _mermaid_ out from oblivion. No-Dominique has, her genius with silk and a sewing machine, and her eye for a duplicitous beauty.

Because as the crowd recalls the full tale of mermaids, mermaids and their breathtaking, inhuman beauty, I can almost feel them remembering that mermaids were killers, cannibals, brutal and charming and manipulatively beautiful. And then the duplicitous beauty of my costume is recognized, in the dark, swirling under layers of the skirt, the entire general undertone of depth and drowning and choking seaweed beneath the shimmering clear blue-greens on top.

I look around at the crowd, and I don't smile, I don't wave, I don't blow kisses as I see the girl from 1 do, up at the front of the procession. And not just because I would feel entirely uncomfortable doing those things. I don't try to charm the crowd, because I am Syrena, I am an enchantress. They are all under my control because of my allure, because I am a mermaid. Strong, beautiful, tempting-and ultimately, deadly.

**A/N: So here's chapter 7, I'm so sorry for the long wait! I just got so busy and all, I'm really sorry. But here it is! Enjoy and review please! (:**


	9. Revenge

**A/N: Sorry guys, this isn't a new chapter. I had to insert a chapter, because I idiotically skipped over the real chapter 7 when I was posting chapters…Sorry if there was any confusion! So now, the former chapter 7 is now chapter 8, and this chapter was formerly chapter 8 but now it is chapter 9. So in a way, there is a new chapter…this just isn't it. Chapter 7 is the new chapter, and it introduces a few pretty important characters; anyway, enjoy that chapter and don't forget to review! Xx**

When the parade ends, Cade jumps out of the chariot and offers me his hand to help me out. I ignore it and swing myself out of the chariot, careful to not tear the dress. A swell of congratulations attacks us-well, mainly, Victory. Her nerves from earlier have now transformed into a dizzy excitement. "That was magnificent! Simply magnificent," she sniffs emotionally as we make our way back to the fourth-floor apartment in the Tributes Center tower. "Now go change into something nice, darlings," says Victory. "We'll have dinner in half an hour, then we'll watch the opening ceremonies recap."

At first I am reluctant to take off Dominique's beautiful mermaid dress, but then I remember that these costumes are nothing but my funeral shroud. I change into a green sundress a lot like my reaping dress, but fancier and the color of Carter's eyes.

When I leave my room, I bump into Cade. Well, not bump, exactly. More like tackle.

He grins. "How is someone so clumsy so deadly with a knife?" he teases. "Surely you must've accidentally nicked your trainer a couple times." I scowl at him childishly; he rolls his eyes. "C'mon, Syrena, let's go eat," he laughs.

Finnick, Annie, Victory, and the stylists and prep teams are already circled around the dining room table by the time Cade and I enter. We sit side-by-side, across from Finnick and Annie, and as the first course is served every wall begins playing an image of the Capitol seal. The anthem is piped into the room through surround-sound speakers, and I resist the urge to cover my ears. So instead, I concentrate on the lamb stew and envision hurling knives at Cillian Kloss's duck face.

At last the seal and anthem fade, but they are replaced by Caesar Flickerman and Claudius Templesmith, the announcer of the Hunger Games, which is hardly any better. I recall how they talked about my brother's death, how they pretended like they cared, and I start seeing red, clenching my fists under the table.

Cade notices my death-glare, aimed into my stew, and reaches over and takes my hand under the table. He eases my hand out of its fist and squeezes it once, reassuringly, and quickly lets go and begins to eat. I am not reassured.

But then District 1 begins rolling out and Victory begins shushing everyone. They are dressed in gold sequined costumes, and the girl's dress throws off bits of light everywhere.

Next is District 2, and their tributes have the same dark hair and eyes. Maybe they're cousins, or possibly siblings. The girl's hair is intricately braided atop her head, and the orange-and-blue-haired stylist on Cade's prep team oohs and aahs. "Isaac," he squeaks, "we absolutely _must _try that hair style next year!"

The room goes silent as it registers what he has said. He is already making plans for next year's Games while Cade and I aren't dead yet. I shouldn't be surprised, considering this is the place that forces us to murder each other. But even Victory is shocked by his callousness. My eyes swing to Cade's, and sure enough, they are tight and clenched. On impulse, I reach over and take his hand softly, and he glances at me in surprise. I nod once, let go.

Across the table, I get the feeling that Annie is also taking Finnick's hand, as he stares daggers at the poor stylist.

"Oh, look," says Dominique lightly, in an effort to break the tension. "It's us." And sure enough, the abalone chariot is pulling out, and Cade and I sit in it. He waves and I glare, but the combined effect of our watery costumes makes us mesmerizing.

There has to be at least one rich old lady in the Capitol who happens to love swimming willing to bet on us, right?

When the replay ends, an Avox servant shuts it off and serves us the second course. Finnick clears his throat. "Tomorrow, training begins," he says sternly. "Both of you better be well rested and ready to go. You're Careers. I expect you to act like it."

I begin to nod, because if I want revenge I need to be a Career, despite how disgusting the thought is to me. Then Cade interrupts, scowling. "What? No! I'm not going to be a Career! Not after they…" he trails off, looking at me. After they killed Carter, he was going to say.

Calmly, I take a bite of roast beef, and the room's eyes swivel to see my reaction. I shrug, put down my fork. "I'm fine with being a Career," I say, carefully controlling my voice. "I haven't got any objections to it." Cade looks at me with thinly veiled shock.

"Well, that's that, then," says Finnick. "Meet me here tomorrow morning at seven for breakfast, and I'll tell you our strategy." He gets up, taking Annie's hand, and they leave the dining room together.

I stand, wipe my mouth with the fancy linen napkin. "I'm finished too," I say, tossing down the napkin and turning to go.

I hear Cade's footsteps, following behind me. "Syrena," he calls, and I walk faster. "Syrena. Syrena!" I pause at the door to my room, and I whirl around abruptly. My sudden stop takes him by surprise, and he runs into me, sending me staggering. He catches my elbow, keeping from falling, and I can see in his eyes he wasn't expecting me to actually stop for him.

"What?" I say, meaning to sound harsh, but my voice catches and it comes out sounding breathy and weak. So I over-compensate by shooting him my best death-glare.

Cade now looks a bit unsure of himself, and he rights me and quickly lets go of my elbow. He clears his throat. "Listen, Syrena…" he begins. Bites his lip. "You don't need to…look, you're not required to be a Career. Just because we're District Four…"

I cut him off. "You don't understand. I don't want to be a Career because I feel like I have to, or because I've been training my whole life for it. Or even because it's my best chance of winning." I turn away from him, twist the doorknob, push open my bedroom door. I don't look at him when I continue, "I'm going to be a Career so that I can get revenge."

And with that, I slam the door in Cade's face, fling myself across the bed, and I sink into tears.


End file.
